


02. Accusation

by rockbrigade



Series: DaBa 30 Theme [2]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Gen, M/M, domestic argument
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2060595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockbrigade/pseuds/rockbrigade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living together is lonlier than Davide imagined it to be</p>
            </blockquote>





	02. Accusation

Keys jangled outside, and then the door creaked open. Davide inhaled and the air felt cold inside his lungs. He had stopped watching TV hours ago, now only peripherally aware that the people on the screen were continuing to murmur. They hadn’t noticed that Bane had finally come home. It was some documentary about great Italian sculptors, Davide could see that much, but he heard nothing but the shuffles from the entryway. Bane was removing his shoes; now his coat. He had locked the door - oh, but now there was a pause. The air felt still now, but the TV continued to jabber quietly.

"I’m home." Bane said softly, with some hesitance. Perhaps he thought Davide would be asleep in front of the TV. Perhaps he thought he could sneak in and Davide would be none the wiser. Perhaps he plain forgot to announce himself because he was so used to coming home past midnight, and crawling into bed beside Davide without a word. Davide bit his lip. Unfortunately, the gilt crown which once adorned the head of the figure has now been lost, leaving historians to speculate as to what became of it. Yes, what a shame. The person who stole it probably felt gilty.

"So you are awake!" The warmth of it pierced through Davide, in the voice and in the arms that slid over his shoulders. He felt the kisses on his neck and the something that caught in his throat - it was like a sickness rising up from the pit of his stomach, and he shuddered. "Are you okay?" Bane said, his nose buried in Davide’s hair.

The statue of David was on TV. Davide stared at the screen. He drew a ragged breath and tried not to tremble.

"Davide?"

"…Me or the statue?"

"What?"

"Me, or the statue?" He realised his mouth was dry. He swallowed and started over, "On the TV. Look."

"Oh." Bane had raised his face away from Davide’s back, loosening his embrace but not relinquishing it. "You, of course. The statue looks the same as ever."

"I’m no different either," Davide said, catching the accusatory tone, "sorry to disappoint you."

Without a word, Bane retracted his arms from around Davide. He got to his feet, steadying himself with a rough hand on Davide’s shoulder, practically shoving Davide forward in the process. The floorboards of their apartment creaked beneath Bane’s angry weight, and for the first time Davide thought to try and catch a glimpse of him. Bane’s back was to him, now. Davide watched those frustrated fingers comb through thick black hair. He averted his gaze just as Bane spun on his heel. “What is that supposed to mean, Davide?” Somewhat of a genuine question, shot out in a burst of explosive energy.

"You don’t come back to anyone different," Davide rose to his feet, anger rising with him; shoulders arching, filling the discrepancy between Bane’s physical size and his own. "No matter how long you put off coming back here, it’s only me that’s waiting for you."

"Well, clearly I have come back to someone different. Didn’t think my partner was such a psycho." Partner. That word always meant just as much or little as Bane wanted it to, and Davide resented the effect, silenced. "Are you joking right now?"

"You know my jokes are never funny, Bane-san."

"Right, ‘cause this is exactly the same as your stupid fucking puns." Bane’s chest was heaving. He had curled the fingers of one hand so that his knuckles braced against his forehead, his elbow pointed sharply outwards. Davide clicked his tongue at the display and Bane raised his eyes to meet that gaze. "You know what, I’m so sick of talking about this. You know I have shit to do, okay - in case you haven’t noticed we have fucking bills to pay, Davide. I am not listening to this after I’ve been working straight from six this morning, okay, so shut your—"

Davide swung forward in a wild lunge, landing a clean hit on Bane’s jaw. Bane reeled, examining the offended cheek with his hand, while Davide clasped his fingers over his bleeding knuckles to suppress his shaking. Michelangelo captured and immortalised David’s decision to face Goliath, a look of warning aimed at something in the distance. And Bane had him by the shirt collars, snarling an inch from his face. Davide’s hands pried at Bane’s clenched fists, but the trembling wouldn’t stop, and in Bane’s eyes…

It may have been a momentary flicker, but Davide had been released. Bane turned towards the door, “I’m going out,” he said.

"Where are you going?"

"Don’t." Bane’s voice was definitive. Coat, shoes, keys. He stood for a moment in the open doorway but had nothing more to say.

The door slammed shut, shaking the apartment - and Davide crumpled in the reverberations.


End file.
